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<title>Drive 'Til The Rain Stops by graytheglowinggay</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408424">Drive 'Til The Rain Stops</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/graytheglowinggay/pseuds/graytheglowinggay'>graytheglowinggay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Borderlands (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Assassins &amp; Hitmen, Based on a Mountain Goats Song, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Ficlet, Gen, Gen Work, Kidnapping, Original Character Death(s), Pre-Canon, Rain, Song fic, Title from a Mountain Goats Song</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:08:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>964</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24408424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/graytheglowinggay/pseuds/graytheglowinggay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it rains on Pandora.</p>
<p>Title and fic concept from "Ezekiel 7 and the Permanent Efficacy of Grace" by the Mountain Goats. Listen to it in conjunction with this fic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Drive 'Til The Rain Stops</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When it rains on Pandora, it pours. The clouds open up and unleash a torrential downpour onto the parched earth below. Sometimes there are mudslides, horrifying things where the planet threatens to reclaim all that she so generously allowed to survive. It was poetic, almost. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zane would have certainly appreciated the poetic nature of the storm if his outrunner had windshield wipers. It seemed that none of the digistructed vehicle options available to him were in any way designed to weather such a storm (no pun intended). It was like no one on the planet had ever seen rain before. Zane had, of course. He’d been to planets where it rained more often than not, where the vehicles had to be outfitted with amphibious gear so they could traverse the pond-sized puddles that frequently appeared. Even though he could hardly see through the windshield, the steady drone of the rain was comforting. He could’ve fallen asleep to such a sound.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The muffled screaming from the back seat broke Zane from his pristine brooding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, quit it, will ye?” Zane said. “Nothing you do here’s gonna save your life, ya hear? Ye was dead from the moment I caught ya. Accept it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More screaming and the low thumping of him wiggling against the back seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zane sighed. No one could ever accept their passing with dignity, now could they?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Y’know, if you just piped down a bit, I might have some respect for you. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>. ya have to make some big feckin’ deal about how ye don’t wanna die and shite. That’s right pathetic, ya hear?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Zane’s mark stopped moving, and Zane heard muffled sobbing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Better than screaming,” he said to himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned on the radio. The atonal pounding that bandits felt passed for music blasted from the speakers. Zane turned it up loud enough to block out the crying. So much for listening to the rain. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He drove for some time longer before pulling over and stepping out of the outrunner. His employer only said to dispose of the target somewhere where he “wouldn’t be found or missed”. Pretty fucking ambiguous instructions, but Zane tried to think of them as leaving him room for artistic freedom. Thanks to the rain, it wouldn’t be too hard to bury a body. Zane got back in the outrunner and kept driving. He stole a look at the backseat to make sure that his restraints were still holding up. They were. His mark was hogtied, blindfolded, and gagged. Perhaps it was a bit of overkill, but Zane wasn’t willing to risk it. Overkill was how you survived as a mercenary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once he found a suitably deserted spot, he pulled over and turned off the engine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re here,” he said in a sing-song voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened the door to the back seat and dragged his target out before depositing him haphazardly on the ground. There was more screaming, this time from pain as well as fear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, I’m gonna give ye a chance to say some last words, mister. I sure as hell won’t remember ‘em, but I figure everyone deserves the chance,” Zane said. He removed the gag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please! Please! Don’t kill me! I’ve got money, I could pay you to let me go!” the mark pleaded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, shite, you’re one of those bastards, eh?” Zane said. “I don’t care about yer feckin’ money. Whatever you’ve got, my employer’s payin’ double.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-I could give you a bandit clan, I’ve got loads of those,” the mark said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And be in charge of a bunch of mouth-breathing wankos? No thanks, I’ll pass,” Zane replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“W-what about a night with Mad Moxxi? She owes me one!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t let the last thing outta yer mouth be a lie, mate,” Zane said. “Disrespects us both.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mark was silent. Zane shrugged. “Eh, not all of us can be poets.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He put the gag back in his mouth before covering his head with a sackcloth hood. The mark hunched over and shook softly. Zane had expected more from a bandit war-chief of such notoriety. Well, it was one thing to deal out death, and another to be on the receiving end of it. He pulled out his pistol and held it to the other man’s head. The rain was soaking through the hood, conforming to the shape of his face. Zane could see it move with his breath. A decade or so ago, that would’ve fazed him. Now, he’s seen it all before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fired once, twice, three times for good measure. Some of those bandit types had thick skulls, and not just in the metaphorical sense. The body went limp and slumped over. Blood oozed out onto the wet soil, mingling with the puddles of rain. Zane holstered his pistol before pulling out his knife to cut the ropes. He pulled off the hood, trying his best to not look too long at the bits of brain and skull that clung to the rough cloth. He pulled off the blindfold and removed the gag, folding them up and shoving them back into his pockets. He maneuvered a shoddy bandit pistol into one of his hands, careful not to break any of the fingers. Hopefully, the grip would maintain until rigor mortis set in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stepped back to take in the full scene. Not his best work, but bandits weren’t exactly the most observant type. It looked enough like suicide to deter further examination. He walked back over to his outrunner to gather up his personal belongings. He’d have to walk to the closest Catch-a-Ride station to digistruct a new one, to ensure the integrity of the scene, but he had planned it out so it wasn’t too far. Besides, the walk would be nice. The rain had already started to stop.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I love the song that this fic is inspired by to death, and you should absolutely listen to it if you haven't already. I felt like it could really fit Zane's history as a hitman.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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